Pregnant By My Professors

BECCA

What was I even doing? I spun around awkwardly, my book bag bumping against my hip and catching the corner of a desk. The screech of metal on laminate echoed through the room, and I winced as the desk nearly dragged along with me. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. Did they not bolt these things down? Everything about this space felt stifling.

Blowing my too-long bangs out of my eyes, I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder and carefully maneuvered it over the row of desks.

The sound of the door slamming shut startled me. I turned sharply, my heart racing, only for my bag to smack into someone’s back.

“Hey, watch it!” The guy hunched forward, shooting me a glare.

“Oh, sorry!” I flashed an apologetic smile—the kind that usually worked—and quickly hurried up the stairs. I found a seat near the back, trying to ignore the way my lungs burned from the climb. My face felt like it was on fire, and I silently thanked the heavens for makeup. Once I’d slid into the chair, I tried to shift it to make more room, but the desk wouldn’t budge.

Figures. They don’t bother securing the desks at ground level, but these are bolted in place. I sighed. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to deal with this kind of setup, and it wouldn’t be the last.

A few more students trickled into the lecture hall, their voices lively and filling the dull space with an energy I hadn’t felt all day.

Sweat dampened my palms, and I wiped them on my black-and-white striped skirt. The motion helped steady my nerves a little, though my stomach still churned. The desk pressed against me, making me all too aware of the way my body spilled over the edges. I pulled in a deep breath and held it, closing my eyes briefly to regain composure.

The laughter and chatter around me no longer felt cheerful but cutting, triggering an unwelcome sense of déjà vu. Even though I knew no one was actually paying attention to me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that every laugh and whispered comment was directed at me.

“You’re here to learn, Becca,” I whispered under my breath. Opening my eyes, I glanced around. No one was looking my way. I was invisible again. That’s how I preferred it. I could play the funny friend when needed, but I’d come to college with a clear purpose—to focus on my education.

In front of me, a blonde girl leaned forward, her perfectly styled hair cascading over one shoulder as she whispered to her friend. “Can you believe some people are taking this class online? Such a waste.”

Her words hit a little too close to home. I’d almost chosen to take this entire year online.

A boy sitting next to her turned, locking eyes with me for a fleeting moment before his attention shifted to the blonde. His expression was neutral when he looked at me, but his face lit up as he smiled at her. He leaned back casually, propping his elbow on the chair behind him.

Grabbing my notebook, I jotted down his actions on one of my lists—the ones I kept for future story ideas. I didn’t know his real name, but in my mind, he was already “Brandon.” I underlined the name twice and added “golden retriever energy” to his description. Cute, playful, but not the brightest bulb in the box.

“I can’t believe I have to take this class,” Brandon said, rolling his eyes. Then he looked the blonde up and down, his smirk widening. “Who even needs English Lit these days?”

Everyone, I thought with an eye roll, scribbling more notes. He could be dumbing himself down to impress her.

The blonde leaned so far over her desk that I half expected her to tumble into his lap. The idea made me grin, and I quickly wrote it down as a potential rom-com scene.

Their voices dropped to hushed tones, and I let my imagination fill in the blanks as I continued writing.

I was halfway through crafting their fictional dialogue when the room fell silent.

The atmosphere shifted, the air suddenly charged. I felt the change before I saw the source of it. My neck tingled, and I slowly raised my head.

And there he was.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly commanding, he strode into the room as though he owned it. His dark brown hair was neatly styled, and his tailored suit fit perfectly. A full beard framed his sharp features, and his stern expression made it clear he meant business.

“I’m Professor Evan  Hilversum,” he announced, his deep voice carrying easily through the hall. “You may address me as Professor or Mr. Hilversum.”

The blonde in front of me shot upright, her earlier confidence replaced with a nervous rigidity. I stifled a laugh, though it quickly died in my throat when Professor Hilversum’s eyes landed on me. For a brief moment, I could have sworn one eyebrow arched, but I dismissed it as my imagination.

“Mr. Hilversum?” A girl near the front raised her hand, her posture calculatedly perfect. “I forgot my syllabus. Can I get another copy?”

“All class materials are online,” he replied without missing a beat. He walked toward the lectern at the front of the room, his steps purposeful. “You’re all adults now. I expect you to act like it. Be prepared, keep up, and don’t waste my time.”